Hope in the Streets.

My phone was ringing in my pocket. It was Mike.
“Where are you?”
“I’m down the street at the church lunch.”
“Ok, just calling to let you know there are a bunch of boys up here asking for you.”
“I’ll be right there.”

The day before, the same boys were loitering up the street from my house. Several of them were wielding sticks and yelling things I couldn’t quite make out. Most of them were between the ages of 9 and 12 (with the exception of one 5 year old) and looked angry. They were boys I recognized from the afterschool program I have been volunteering at the last few months. “What seems to be the problem boys?” Most of them didn’t look at me. “We are going to beat him up for hitting my cousin with a rock!” They pointed to the house across the street where a few children sat on the front steps. It was then that I realized that the sticks were actually weapons. “Boys, you are better than this.” They ignored me and continued to yell.

I knew that if the boys continued to yell the neighbors would eventually call the police. Before I realized the impact of my words, they were coming out of my mouth: “Who wants to earn some money?” The boys immediately stopped what they were doing, turned and looked at me, and said “I do!” The sticks dropped to the ground. We spent the rest of the afternoon picking up trash in the yard of the abandoned house next door. I made them promise that they would not fight. The kids walked away with ice pops and a few dollars in their pockets. I walked away hopeful.

Sure enough, Mike was right, there were about six boys sitting in my living room when I arrived at the house. During our yard cleanup the day before, I mentioned having an ice-cream party and the boys were holding me to my word. The afternoon passed by quickly as we ate ice-cream and played games. The boys laughed while bantering back and forth over who was going to win the next game. For a moment, street life was left behind and the boys were just that: boys.

A few days later my housemate mentioned that he saw some of the boys being put in the back of a police cruiser. He asked them what happened and the boys said they were trying to fight. The police officer was taking the boys home. My heart sank. Disappointed and completely frustrated, I started to question if we are just prolonging the inevitable. The boys had broken their promise. Street life won.

I spent the next 24 hours extremely discouraged…and then, my doorbell rang.
“Hey boys, what’s up?”
“Hey. Nothing, you have any ice cream?”
“Yeah, I have ice cream. Come on in.”

The days continue to pass and the boys continue to ring our doorbell. Sometimes they are just dropping by for a moment, other times they stay for hours. We continue to laugh, play games, eat pizza, and simply allow them to be boys. And with each ringing doorbell, I am reminded that there is no inevitable because of hope.

Hebrews 6:12 (The Message)
And now I want each of you to extend that same intensity toward a full-bodied hope, and keep at it till the finish. Don't drag your feet. Be like those who stay the course with committed faith and then get everything promised to them.